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2013.10.05 - Can You Dig It? Probably Not.
Smithonsian Institute, Washington D.C. "And don't jostle that box. Be sure it's set in the direction the arrow points. Quit fidgeting. Are you humming? If you lift from your legs and not your box, young man, you wont have a sore back in the morning. I wonder if I've forgotten anything. I can't believe the government did this. Well I never enjoyed government funding anyway. Private is the way to go. Do not jostle that box an inch more. Mr. Peet. The contents within are worth more than you'll make in a year." The following comments tend to float through the steps leading away from the Smithsonian and towards a small van waiting on the edge of everything. As the Smithsonian is /closed/ due to the terrible events in Congress, one Doctor Annabelle Riggs has been considered one of those 'unnecessary', and as a result, she's been placed on temporary furlough. Though 'temporary' is a good word, for who knows how long it will be for members of the House and Senate to come to a conclusion? Thus, Dr. Riggs has taken it upon herself to get hired at a new museum, more private, and less government sanctioned. Currently, the good doctor is dressed as she usually is, comfortable pair of old fashioned dark brown cords, a flannel shirt tucked into the pants, and her ever present brown leather bomber jacket over that. One hand is lifting upwards to idly push the brim of her glasses back up onto her nose as she mutters to the young man she hired from a temp agency to help her move her belongings out of the Smithsonian. "I don't care who's right, or who's wrong, or if its the Republicans, Democrats, Wigs or The Bull Moose party in office, if they'd gotten their acts together, I wouldn't have to go to a new job!" And the conversation to poor Marcus Peet has been similar through. Currently - Doctor Riggs also has a large box in her own arms, as she navigates down the stairs of the Smithsonian by peaking occasionally around the box, and looking down versus being able to see over it. The person to whom Annabelle is venting her frustrations seems immune enough to her rantings, though every so often a small scowl can been seen creeping onto the corners of Marcus Peet's broad features. Manual labor of this sort is the last job that he would imagine himself having resorted to, but its not like he had much choice. His airport gig, such as it was, dried up without notice when the whole bar got shut down due to health code violations. He's been looking for something steady every since, and in the meantime has had to sign up with local temp agencies just to help pay the bills. "You know," Marcus answers a bit quietly to the suggestion that the box he's carrying is highly more valuable than his own annual wages, "That ain't a lot these days. And what's wrong with humming? Don't tell me you haven't heard about whistling while you work and all that?" He offers a wide grin after the last comment, staying upbeat himself despite his employer's consternation at the situation of the government and her own job. Still, Marcus is careful enough with the boxes that he's moving, making certain to be as gentle as possible as he moves one after another into the large moving van. He's not too curious about the exact contents of the box - history has never really been Marcus's thing - but Annabelle's fervent reminders to keep the boxes stable and secure half has him wondering if she's using him to smuggle out highly combustible explosives. Of course, he's still not certain how the temp agency even slotted him for this job, as far away as it is from his home base in New York. He'd asked his contact about the distance, and she didn't have a good answer for him, only offering to find him something else instead. As if Marcus wanted to wait another three weeks for a paycheck! Instead, he here is in Washington, DC, slogging away for his dime and listening to the embittered diatribes of a furloughed history professor. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Marcus starts towards where the van is parked, though one of Annabelle's comments makes him pause. "Um, the who party? I know I don't follow politics all that much, but... Last I checked, they don't wear wigs around the capitol much any more. Thought that went out after the Revolution?" He gives the woman a strange look, before turning back to begin heading forward again, shaking his head slightly. At least he stands to make enough money from this so that he can actually take Kitty out on a nice date. With his other job gone, he hasn't had the dough to take her out anywhere fancy - or anywhere at *all*. Which is definitely something he needs to change. Parked not too far away from the nondescript van Marcus and Annabelle are headed towards is a Dodge charger rental stickers visible on the rear windscreen, gleaming pristine silver aside from several noticeable scuffs on the front bumper. Propped up against the side of the car, looking a little more ragged around the edges than usual is one Elsa Bloodstone, long tan coat buttoned up around herself with her hands jammed in her pockets, a mildly disdainful expression on her face. She looks up into the face of the imposing female figure standing next to her, who looks pristine as ever. "I take it all back. Next time you take the bloody horse." The trip from New York utilising mundane means had been...eventful to say the least. Her gaze alights on the archaeologist and her assistant as they near. Elsa pulls one hand out of her coat, raising her hand and waggling her fingers at Annabelle. "Miss Riggs? Elsa Bloodstone. We met a few weeks ago. I imagine the event probably sticks out in the mind." She affords Marcus a brief nod in greeting. The figure standing next to Elsa is making even less effort to be nondescript than Elsa and their rental car. Brunnhilde the Valkyrie stands in her usual regalia, complete with the pommel of her sword jutting over her right shoulder, with her arms folded and her ice-blue gaze directed expectantly toward the Smithsonian's entrance. At Elsa's somewhat sour comment, Brunnhilde looks down at her companion and offers a slight shrug. "I did say that Aragorn could easily have bourne us to this place. And had we but stepped between the realms, we would not have been troubled by the unreasonable demands of your 'airport security'." The rejoinder is given mildly enough, for the trip has been alternately interesting, frustrating, and baffling for the Valkyrie. But she's still a little miffed that she wasn't allowed to take her sword into the passenger cabin, and it was only after much argument that the blade was banished to the Heavenly Realm for the duration of the flight. And that was only one of the challenges that the Valkyrie had encountered since arriving at Elsa's shop unannounced, seeking 'the lady Annabelle' in order to follow up on her discovery of the far from innocuous figurines. As her eyes begin to track back toward toward the Smithsonian, Brunnhilde's eyes light on the scrapes marring the front bumper of their rental car, and with the tone of someone who's said this before and is clearly determined to say it again, she adds. "I still feel you should have allowed me to speak with that rude man. I know not whether he had the 'right of way' of which he spoke, but his vehicle was far inferior to our own. It was for him to yield." She follows that up with a firm nod, and it's perhaps a mercy that Elsa draws her attention to the arrival of Annabelle. Scuffed car (and pride) forgotten, Brunnhilde's gaze finds the archaeologist. "I should think so." She says, quietly (for her) as an aside to Elsa. "She faced evil at our side, such things cannot be /so/ common in Midgard now?" "Young Man." Dr. Riggs begins, her icy eyes turning towards Marcus. "Your history is correct, though as much attention as I pay to current politics, I should state - I think perhaps it would be better if old fashioned policies and old fashioned history might be looked at, by these inferior.... Oh My God." The last bit is stated as one Doctor Riggs swivels slightly around at the sound of her name, and her gaze - peaking from around the box she's currently carrying alights upon Elsa Bloodstone and the tall blonde warrior woman - a Valkyrie from the blonde's appearance, dress and mannerisms. If the pale shade to Annabelle's complexion has anything to say; she's about ready to either throw up, faint, or maybe just wish the box she was carrying would open up and suck her in. There's an immeasurable amount of time that collects between Annabelle's words of consternation - and what she does next. Though it can be noted that her face does disappear from behind the box, and her head thumps against the cardboard a few times - hidden by the box to Elsa and Valkyrie but not to Marcus. It probably does Marcus some good noting the over demanding archeologist is not happy. Finally, however, the box is placed in the van, as Annabelle turns back around to address Elsa and Valkyrie. "It was quite the memorable occurrence." She finally gets out, shoulders straightening, one hand gesturing toward Marcus. "This is my assistant, Mr. Marcus Peet. Mr. Peet - this is Elsa Bloodstone, and... if I am not mistaken, one of the Valkyrie - perhaps.." And Annabelle's gaze narrows upon Brunnhilde, before offering a quiet. "The first, if I am not mistaken." "How might I be of help?" Annabelle then inquires, her chin lifting just so, "I fear compensation for the damages done to your shop will have to be taken up with the government, if they ever return.." With the box that he's carrying currently obstructing the majority of his field of view, Marcus is blissfully unawares of the odd duo that is laying in wait for his current employer. He strides out into the parking lot towards the van without knowledge of the strange pair there, and continues his conversation with Dr. Riggs - at least until she herself notices the others. "Hey, there's old fashioned and then there's just plain old, but..." He begins, before Annabelle's shocked and startled reaction stops him cold, followed up by her less-than-enthusiastic greeting to the two females and their beat-up car. Slowly, Marcus lowers his own box down a bit, cautiously peering over the top of the brown cardboard to peer at the Brit and her tall, statuesque companion, his own eyes widening just a little as he does so. He stares at the pair for just a moment, before he pans Annabelle with a dubious expression. "One of the Valkyrie? What, is that like some sort of death metal band or something? Ain't no group I ever heard of," he remarks to the doctor quietly. "And what kind of name is Bloodstone?" He keeps his voice low with these comments, and moves over to carefully set his box down in the back of the moving fan before returning nearby to Riggs, crossing his arms casually over his chest as he returns Elsa's nod with a brief lift of his own chin. "Um, pleased t'meetcha," he greets both, still giving Valkryie's accoutrements a wary eye. "I'm not sure you'd really call me an 'assistant', I'm really just--" He stops in mid sentence then, something that Annabelle said finally clicking in his brain. "Wait, damages done? Aw, hell, are these some sort of debt collectors? You got some sort of British mafia coming down on you and they brought a Russian weightlifter as their enforcer? Shit, that'd be just my luck!" The young man turns back to Elsa and Valkyrie then, quickly avowing his innocence. "Like I was saying, I'm just a temp, just moving boxes. I don't know jack about no destroyed shop or anything, I just met this lady today!" Elsa arches an eyebrow at the Asgardian, utilising Annabelles shocked silence to issue a mild reprimand. "You could have at *least* put your sword in the boot. Just as well staffing levels are a bit iffy round here at the moment or we'd probably be banged up by now." Elsa returns her focus to the archaeologist and her associate, straightening up from her slouch against the rental car. She waves off Annabelles talk of property damage with a flick of her wrist. "Nothing a few planks and couple nails couldn't fix, darling." *Though my already pricey insurance policy may well have gone up, thank you /so/ very much.* "We were planning on getting some traction on the...issue you brought to my attention." Her gaze flicks from Annabelle to Marcus then back again. "Brunnhilde here is something of an expert on the subject and came to me out of what I *think* might be Asgardian professional courtesy. The distance involved might be a bit of a sod, however." The monster hunter turns to Annabelles sidekick. "Mister Peet." Elsa jabs a thumb at Brunnhilde before pointing to herself. "She's an Asgardian, I'm a second generation monster hunter. We don't want your money, but if you want to make a donation to the Bloodstone repair fund or the Asgardian axe polishers union, please don't let me stop you." The Valkyrie looks appraisingly at Annabelle as the archaeologist notices them and is rendered briefly speechless. "Aye, she does remember!" Brunnhilde remarks with some satisfaction, before pausing and narrowing her eyes as Annabelle hides behind Marcus' box. "Does she look quite... well, to you?" There's a bit of consternation in the Valkyrie's voice, though it's forgotten instantly as she snorts her answer to Elsa's suggestion. "Nonsense. I may have need of it." Which is, naturally, her only concern on the matter. As Annabelle recovers and comes into view once more, Brunnhilde nods to her courteously. "Well met, Annabelle Riggs." The ice-blue gaze shifts to fix on Marcus as if she's taking his measure, and she nods again at length. "Marcus Peet." Surprise breaks through her well-controlled expression and her eyes flicker back to Annabelle once more. "You are not mistaken." Brunnhilde replies, looking rather pleased to be recognised, and might have said more if Elsa hadn't so expertly taken over the conversation. Instead she simply nods to emphasise what she considers the salient points, a look of determined patience on her features. She's come to expect mortals to need to discuss matters before taking action, after all. "We do not have such a union." Brunnhilde remarks idly as she reenters the conversation, inspecting the sheen of her blade as if the mention of axe-polishing had brought it to mind - having drawn it while the others talked. "But I will suggest it. It seems a fair idea." She sounds utterly serious, then looks between the others, her eyes settling first on Marcus. "Calm yourself, Marcus Peet. I am not a Russian, nor a weightlifter." She seems determined to be reassuring. "Neither you nor your mistress have anything to fear from me." Having said that, Brunnhilde addresses Annabelle. "It is as Elsa has said. We go in pursuit of the artifacts that were stolen from you, and the thieves themselves." Nodding slowly with a look of satisfaction, as if she'd successfully navigated a complex and baffling ritual, Brunnhilde's gaze sweeps across the other three one last time. "We are of one accord, then? You require no more time to discuss matters? Very good." She smiles. "Then we go." She raises Dragonfang, and slices a tear in reality. A moment later, Annabelle, Marcus, Elsa, Brunnhilde - and their car - are somewhere else. Archeological Dig Site, Mount Ida, Crete. A few ragged tents and a scattering of archaeological tools are all that remain of this once busy dig site. The dusty ground is littered with tracks, leading back and forth from a nearby cave. The area is eerily quiet, though those with enhanced senses may notice the sound of guttural voices echoing from the cave nearby. Hand meet face. That's the facepalm that Annabelle gives to Marcus as her 'assistant for the day' plays up his knowledge of history, Valkyrie and innocence (she could use a different word there) of English Mafia. (If such a thing even exists). Thankfully, however, before she can assure the young man that she is not in trouble by any form of Mafia - Valkyrie and Elsa are swift to intervene, leaving Annabelle to once again adjust her glasses, straightening them upon her nose. A breath, as the two are talking, and Annabelle's moving towards the boxes in her van, rifling through one, and then another, before returning with a few items, as the back of the van is closed upwards. "This is as much..." And then. Well. Annabelle's feeling like she shouldn't have had the Chicago style hot dog for lunch. Onions. Peppers. Tomatoes. Mustard. And everything else is rolling right now from the unexpected jaunt from Washington to Greece. Her hand clamps onto her mouth, as an audible *mphrmhph gurgle mphmmm..* echoes outwards, and Annabelle's complexion shifts into the green. Thankfully, Annabelle /does/ keep her meal down, though with some effort, as a woozy 'ugh' finally emerges, as well as, "Warn a person next time, Asguardian!" A few ominous gurgles continues to echo within Annabelle's stomach, as her gaze flickers over the remains of the dig. "Well, not much has changed since we were forced to leave." Annabelle offers, her eyes shifting towards Marcus as a quick exchange there is stated in hushed whispers. Something akin to - 'I'll pay you double..' ... 'Fine. Two hundred dollars' ... 'Seriously!? You're getting that much!' ... 'Fine, one thousand but not a penny more!' For a moment, Marcus just looks back and forth between Elsa and Valkyrie. This is just completely out of his experience - monster hunters, body-builders with swords, and who knows what sort of stolen artifacts they're talking about. Surely something that the day laborer wants nothing to do with. The 'explanations' offered by Elsa are of little comfort - or clarity - to him, either. "Ass-/what/?" he repeats to her, furrowing his eyebrows. The axe that Brunnhilde brandishes and begins to examine doesn't make him feel much better. Nor does her supposed reassurance that there is nothing to fear from her or the woman with her. "Look, whatever it is you guys are in to, I think I'm just going to call this one a half-day and--" Valkyrie's words make him stop though, and he blinks at her suppositions. "One Accord?" Marcus starts, pointing his finger towards the car that the two other women brought with them. "Look, lady, first off, that piece of shit behind you ain't no Honda, it's a Dodge Charger, and second off, if you think I'm getting into that thing with any of you, you've got another think coming. I'd sooner take a Greyhound back to--" But he never gets to finish his diatribe. While he's trying to say his peace, the Asgardian blithely just pulls out her sword and summarily hurtles the quartet across dimensions - the parking lot of the Smithsonian gone and replaced by an location that Marcus can only be certain must be a half-world away. He manages to stomach the transportation only marginally better than Dr. Riggs, staggering only once as he keeps his balance and adjusts to the sudden change in locale. "What the *hell??*" The van is gone. The parking lot, no more. No museum buildings, no hum and drone of the city beyond - just dirt, dust, some half-forgotten archeological dig site and a very ominous cave. And the POS Dodge Charger. "This is *not* what I signed up for," he manages, turning to Annabelle with an accusatory glare. "I don't where the hell we are but..." Her hushed words to him give him pause, however, before he begins to respond to them in scowled, whispered tones of his own. '...kidding me? Did you *see* what just happened?' ... 'Woulda got two-fifty from the temp agency!' The last offer from the PhD is enough to make Marcus capitulate, however, and with the promise of an even grand for his troubles, the black man can't help but answer with a quick, "Done." He then turns back to Valkyrie and Elsa, forcing a smile at the situation that he's been thrust into. "So, you're gonna have to catch me up to speed. Where the hell are we and what sort of shit are we looking for?" Elsa shoots Valkyrie a questioning look as she takes the initiative. "Now hang on a bloody min..." She is cut off by the quick dimensional jaunt, finishing her thought several thousand miles away. "...ute." The monster hunter looks around, startled for a moment, before throwing her hands up to the sky. "Are you telling me you could have done that any time you sodding liked? We flew coach! You hated it! I rented a car..." Elsa looks around, to see the automobile has followed in their wake. Squaring her shoulders, she takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Right! Never mind." Elsa gives Annabelle a sympathetic look as her body reacts to the dimensional shift. "Yeah, sorry about that. Got to admire their directness though, no mucking about." She offers the archaeologist a wry smile. Elsas expression sours somewhat as she is bombarded by Marcus' profanity filled tirade. "Look upon it as work experience in the field of monster hunting, darling. I'll match Annabelles generous offer, call it danger money." Elsa pops the trunk of the car and starts rummaging through her monster hunting paraphernalia, extracting one of her beloved Browning Auto-5's and a particularly shiny European style longsword that she scabbards at her waist. "Anyone who can handle a weapon, feel free to draw arms from the boot. Everyone else, stick close to someone who can. Brunnhilde, why don't you give these nice people a primer on trolls while I do a spot of ye olde reconnaissance." With that, Elsa busies herself examining the tracks in and around the dig site. "Trolls," she calls distractedly. "Definitely trolls. Human tracks as well. Though...sometimes parallel to...that's not right." With a delicate pinch of thumb and index finger, Elsa extracts an item from the dusty ground. A syringe. "Not right at all," she comments to herself. Valkyrie looks nonplussed at Elsa's diatribe and sheaths her sword in a smooth movement as she waits for the other woman to wind down. "Of course." She says. "It is a simple thing, I thought it not worth mentioning." She shrugs. "I had thought the long and uncomfortable journey to be another Midgardian custom of which I was unaware." She frowns thoughtfully. "Though even at the time I did think whoever was responsible for those tiny seats deserved a sound thrashing." Realising that Elsa's no longer listening to her, Brunnhilde shrugs philosophically and begins to look around - just in time to catch Annabelle's displeasure. Valkyrie's brows knit, and she raises a finger, opens her mouth, thinks for a moment, then points at Annabelle. "You would have preferred to ride in 'coach' then?" She suggests, and shakes her head. "I would not recommend it." Those words are said with plenty of conviction. Valkyrie pays no attention to the complaints of Marcus, who has been neatly pidgeon-holed as 'Annabelle's liege-man' in her head, except to remark conversationally to Annabelle herself. "He's an excitable one, isn't he? Besting his first troll will settle him down, I shouldn't wonder." The last is added as an afterthought, and clearly meant to be confidence-building. Valkyrie tosses Elsa an approving look as she briskly takes charge, then looks Annabelle up and down with an appraising look in her eye. Without warning she draws the axe at her belt and reverses it, so that the haft is pointing toward the archaeologist. "This would suit you well. Dragonfang is all the weapon I shall need this day." Thrusting the axe onto Annabelle, Valkyrie takes a couple of steps toward the dark maw of the cave, cocks her head as if listening, then smiles that slightly eager smile again. "Trolls." She says abruptly, wheeling around to face Marcus and Annabelle and rubbing her hands together in anticipation. "Nasty, brutish creatures, possessed of low cunning and boundless aggressiveness. They can be found across the Nine Realms, but rarely in Midgard. Their presence in your Realm is unfortunate, but a good opportunity none the less. They favour the dark places beneath the earth, where they mine and work metal - when not making war and seeking to enslave the other races, of course." Valkyrie adds this in as a cheerful aside, before continuing. "You will know one when you see one, for they are taller than I, hairy, and fearsomely ugly." She pauses, considering if she's left anything out. "And they possess greater than mortal strength and will not hesitate to kill you where you stand." She grins. "But keep your courage, and you will return home with a tale worthy of song." On that note, Brunnhilde looks encouragingly at first Annabelle and then Marcus, then moves swiftly to join Elsa, dropping to one knee to inspect her find. "Our companions are ready." She says confidently. "What have you found?" The growling and grunting noises from the cave mouth intensify, now accompanied by the sound of shuffling. Out of the shadows emerge squat, powerful looking creatures, covered in orange skin topped with bristly brown fur. Valkyrie will immediately recognise them as Rock Trolls, however they seem to be pitifully short for their fearsome reputation. Close inspection will reveal that they are all suffering from some sort of malformation in one or more of their limbs. Some of them sport a very human looking arm, while others waddle about unsteadily with a mismatched pair of legs. They offer little in the way of communication other than snarls and grunts, one particularly sturdy looking specimen sporting a human ear on one side of his head, hefts a large boulder and flings it at the assembled heroes, archaeologist and reluctant assistant with a gurgling "GRAAAAAGH!" This is. Insane. That much Annabelle Riggs is quite sure of. It's completely out of hand, and has been since she was put on extended leave by the Smithsonian. While she tries to adjust to things in her own intimidating manner, she's left wondering if she woke up in some bizarre otherworld, and hasn't woke up yet. At least her stalwart liege-man will stay. For a thousand. And hey, he'll get an extra grand from the Bloodstone, so he'll be compensated. She is no coward, however, and if she gets her items back and gains some manner of recognition in the world for doing so, all the better. Of course, as she turns to face Valkyrie, and does her best not to ogle the tall blonde Asguardian, a huge handle of an axe is shoved into Annabelle's hands. The resulting image is one of Annabelle grabbing hold of the axe, and her arm suddenly dropping down with a *THUD* as the axe lands in the dirt, her fingers wrapped about the hilt. "Oof." The sound echoes from Dr. Riggs' mouth as she utilizes every ounce of muscle she has, which isn't much, to heft the heavy weapon upwards with a grunt of exertion and noise. "Woof.." "Th..thanks." Annabelle offers then, clearing her throat as she attempts to heft the axe up in a more familiar manner, though it really looks far more comical than helpful. Her sharp gaze soon flickers towards the syringe that Elsa has found, as a furrowing of her brows begins to set, and her mind begins to work out the possibilities. Maybe ... they're not real.. "Trolls!" Yes. Yes. Annabelle. That is true, the rock goes careening through the air and towards the gathered heroes, as the axe is tossed to one side, and Annabelle does the only thing she really can think of, spinning about on her heels, she accidently (it's really on purpose) stumbles into Marcus and shoves them both to the ground, as the huge enormous rock continues on past (and Annabelle's actions do save both Marcus and herself, though probably the youth could have done that himself), while the poor POS car gets annihilated in a crash and rending of metal, showering glass, and the horn. Going off. Loudly. And unstopping. If the promise of a single thousand dollars wasn't enough to convince Marcus to assist Annabelle - and the others - in this mad endeavor, Elsa's offer to double the amount surely does the trick. In fact, the sum is enough that he's almost wondering if it might not be *too* much, and just exactly what he's getting himself into. "Two thousand? Total? Shit, that's more than I've made in the past two months... What the hell you all getting me in to?" He doesn't get an answer - not right away, at least - and is instead directed to the trunk of the POS Charger where there is an assortment of lethal weapons, none of which he has any knowledge of how to use. Spiked mace. Double-barreled shotgun. Some sort of curved blade that looks fresh off the set of an old Sinbad movie. Nothing that he really feels comfortable that he wouldn't injure himself instead of whatever they'll be going up against. Marcus frowns deeply at the selection, starting to reach out for a bottle of what he can only assume is holy water, before he instead grabs a pair of nun-chucks that sit nearby. He hasn't the faintest idea of how to use them, of course, but hey - who hasn't ever wanted to carry around nun-chucks and be a bad-ass ninja like Bruce Lee? Sadly, in Marcus's case, he'll likely end up just being a *bad* ninja, but at least he'll have something he can almost defend himself with. Turning back to the others, he tries to twirl the weapon about to get a feel for the weight of the thing, the wood and chain rattling clumsily in his hand. "Right, since you forgot to pack the bazooka, I..." He stops then, eyes wide at the declaration of their foe for the day. "Wait, what? Trolls? Are you shitting me? Trolls? Like, 'Troll in the Dungeon', Trolls?" The man stares blank-faced at Valkyrie's description of the monsters, blood starting to drain just a bit from his features with each detail that she offers of the creatures. As she finishes, he shakes his head in contradiction that they'll all get through this without problem. "Tale worthy of song, my ass," he counters. "If we return home from this shit, you're paying me a thousand too." Then, everything hits the fan. Without warning or preamble, a pack of the aforementioned trolls burst forward from the cave, hell-bent on attacking the foursome and everything else in their path. To be truthful, Marcus wasn't really certain whether to believe the crazy Brit and her crazy Valkyrie partner about all of the troll business, but then there they are. Trolls. They may be miss-shapen and deformed, but they're trolls. Real, live trolls. Marcus isn't quite sure what to do - so, regrettably, he does nothing. The pair of nun-chucks fall uselessly from his hand as he gapes at the monsters, and his position in front of the POS Charger has him right in the way of the huge, heavy boulder that's been hurled in his direction. He's too dumbstruck to get out of the way, though, and just stands there - until Annabelle plows into him and slams them both to the ground, allowing the boulder to sail harmlessly above and into the car behind them. "WOOOPH!" Marcus's breath is knocked out of his lungs as he hits the ground, and it takes him a moment to collect himself as he realizes what's just happened. Annabelle is directly on top of him, and the remains of the Charger is bleating out its feeble alarm as he tries to extricate himself from the woman without being unduly untoward. "Uh, thanks..." he starts out with a light grunt. "It is too late to tell you to keep the money?" Elsa can't help but grin evilly to herself as she overhears Valkyrie expounding enthusiastically on the nature of their quarry while she is examining the dig site, masking a chuckle with the back of her free hand. A full scale guffaw is choked off as she see's Annabelle struggling with the Asgardian axe out of the corner of her eye. She glances up as her available light is somewhat diminished as Valkyrie kneels down beside her. "Bloody shenanigans," she says obliquely to the Asgardian warrior, pocketing the syringe in a belt pouch. As Marcus makes his choice of weapon from the trunk of the car, Elsa stares at him incredulously. "I...really? Why do I even have those in there? Put those down before you injure yourself, you silly man! The bazooka is in the *other* car I brought stuffed full of lethal weapons, obviously." Elsa gets to her feet quickly as the posse of Trolls emerge from the cave, bringing her shotgun to bear quickly. "Ellie brought the right ammo this time, you rocky bastards!" However her aim is spoiled as she dives out of the way of the oncoming boulder, though she quickly regains a knee and cracks off two rounds at the offending troll. The rounds blow some chunks off his craggy hide off into the sand, but don't seem to slow him down much. Elsa winces as she hears the Dodge Charger expire messily behind her under the weight of the boulder. She casts a look at Marcus and Annabelle on the ground nearby. "There goes my bazooka money," she says pointedly. Valkyrie is either blithely unaware of the problems that Marcus and Annabelle are having with arming themselves, or doesn't want to shame either of them by bringing it up. Honestly, it's the latter, and she's already resolved to place herself between them and any danger that comes their way. Perhaps she shouldn't have brought them along, but it would hardly have been fair to have left Annabelle out of the adventure, would it? After all, the figurines that were stolen were her discovery! Crouched beside Elsa, Valkyrie looks askance at the monster hunter as she makes her cryptic comment, but then her head snaps up at the chorus of growls and grunts from the cave. There's a spray of dirt as Valkyrie goes from crouched to sprinting in an instant, and she's already accelerating away from Elsa - and toward the trolls - as the most troll-like of the group lets fly with his boulder. "By the All Father, get you back to the darkness!" The challenge is bellowed at the top of her lungs, even as Dragonfang slips free of its scabbard once more and is raised to her shoulder to strike. But. Brunnhilde the Valkyrie is no berserker, and is not lost to the warrior's madness. Even as she charges the trolls, she sees their stunted size, their human appendages, and recognition flares. Dragonfang sweeps across her body and instead of a blade striking the lead troll in the chest to follow up Elsa's pistol rounds, it's the Valkyrie's shoulder, as hard and fast as she's able. "Trollvine!" She spits. "What coward has done this!" She seems singularly unconcerned that she's just barrelled into the centre of the knot of trolls... The boulder throwing troll responds to Brunnhildes challenge with a slightly less grammatically sound "GRAAAAGH!", puffing up its chest to meet her charge. With the crunching noise of Asgardian warrior maidens shoulder meeting rock troll skin, the creature stumbles backwards and falls flat on its ass, the crater caused by Elsa's shotgun rounds now split open, weeping bright orange ichor. The creature tries to struggle to a sitting position, but the fight seems to have gone out of it, which is somewhat atypical for your average Rock Troll. Two more trollkin amble towards Brunnhilde, one sporting an all too human seeming right arm, while a massive troll arm on the opposite side is dragged across the ground alongside it. Another hobbles towards her on a mismatched pair of human and troll legs, intent on causing her harm. The remaining two advance on the fallen forms of Annabelle and Marcus, one screaming at them with a malformed human/troll hybrid head, while the other has pulled off its human arm on the right side and is swinging it like a club with its left. Untangling herself from Marcus, Annabelle lets out an undignified snort as she rises upwards, one hand pushing her askew glasses back onto her nose. Trollvine. As an archeologist and someone who is -very- much interested in Asgardian history, knowledge, and everything about it - period. She knows about the fruit of Trollvine, though from the appearance of the syringe would mean that it is most likely a derivative of Trollvine, versus the actual fruit itself. Still, this really doesn't help matters, in the least. At all. It's just random thoughts from someone who isn't going to just back down! Now when the hot blonde is in trouble! Err.. Well, she really isn't in trouble in the least, and could handle the 'trolls' with ease, with or without help, but Annabelle is anything but cowardly. Much. There was that one time, but she's not going to run away screaming. This time. The loud, continuous vocals from the POS car has Annabelle stomping over to the vehicle, hefting up her axe and slamming it down on the noise. *CRASH* *Beewfwww..* *BANG* *Ffwweeeeee....* And then blissful silence, leaving the good Doctor to heft the axe again and spin around, satisfied that at least she did /something/. While the good Doctor is busy dispatching what's left of the POS Charger, Marcus is left scrambling to his feet to face down the two horribly malformed trolls that are bearing upon him. He has no idea what Trollvine might be, and can only barely recognize an actual Troll. He can only assume that's what these creatures are - he's never seen a live troll before, of course, so really only has the word of Valkyrie and Elsa to go on regarding the authenticity of these things. All he really knows is that there's two of them coming at him, and one of the things is actually using its own arm as club. Yuck! Long gone are the nun-chucks - they're lost under one of the nearby shrubs, the scraggly foliage hiding the only weapon left to Marcus that he knows of. He has no fighting skills to speak of, and unless music really does soothe the savage beast, Marcus is certain that he's about two steps away from a horrible, grisly death. His gaze darts helplessly over to Dr. Riggs and the axe that's now embedded into what's left of the Charger, before going back to the coming troll. Why she thought the alarm was more important the trolls, he's quite unsure. Without any aid from her and no weapon of his own, there's only one thing he can do - he covers his head and screams! With his eyes closed and an unmanly shout escaping his lungs, Marcus is unable to see what happens next. Surprisingly, the trolls are not able to reach him - instead, the coarse shrubs and underbrush that cover the rocky soil in the area all start to shake and shiver in unison, before rolling forward in a wave-like motion of green and brown. A veritable tide of vegetation sweeps forward infront of Marcus, the plants actually unearthing themselves as the hurtle towards the trolls and wrap around the creatures in a tangle, choking net of dense wood and leaves. The monsters don't have a chance - in seconds, they're completely trapped and unable to move, leaving Marcus to finally cease his screaming and look up with confusion and bewilderment, not knowing in the least how he's been saved. "Trollwhat now?!?" Elsa yells over the din of battle to the Asgardian. She's really going to have to cross a few streets and knock on the front door of the Hall of Asgard and ask for a copy of 'Asgardian Lore for Dummies' if this keeps happening. She's a specialist in Vampires, Werewolves, Mummies, Zombies...but it seems her knowledge of norse lore is somewhat patchy. Brunnhilde's less than lethal actions confirm Elsa's own suspicions that not all is at it appears here. As Annabelle silences the mortally wounded car with her borrowed axe, Elsa salutes the archaeologist. "Thank you Miss Riggs, that was beginning to get *right* on my chuffing nerves, but you've left your trusty temp heinously undefended." The monster hunter darts over to Marcus' position, though her shotgun barrel is lowered to kneecap level as she aims towards the creatures. Marcus' scream echoes over the mountainside, giving her a moments pause, wondering if they've somehow hurt him already. Then their assailants are suddenly wrapped in foliage, held immobile. Elsa blinks. "Did somebody invite Swamp Thing and no one told me?" She looks between Marcus and Annabelle, confused. The monster hunter shoulders her shotgun, drawing her longsword before advancing on the downed creatures. Hesitating for a moment, she turns the blade side on and batters the two troll hybrids into unconsciousness, the blade battered and twisted by the time she's finished. "Never look a gift shrub in the mouth, I say." She offers Annabelle and Marcus a crooked smile before casually flinging the now useless sword to one side. "Trollvine!" Valkyrie yells back to Elsa, even as she kicks the first troll square in the head, putting it firmly down for the count. "The fruit..." She continues, pausing as she dodges a ponderous swing from an oversized troll-arm and punches the off-balance creature in the size of the head as it blunders past. "...can transform... OOF!" She gets out, as the other troll tries to tackle her. It gets a hard knee to its gut for its trouble, and the pommel of Dragonfang on the crown of its head as it slumps forward. "...other beings..." She squares up to the troll she punched as it shakes its head and then growls, swinging at her again. This time Brunnhilde simply drops Dragonfang, grabs the arm, twists, and sends the troll flying over her shoulder to land in a heap. "...into these benighted creatures." She says into the sudden, comparative silence that signals the end of the combat (and the car alarm). Dusting herself off, she retrieves Dragonfang and rests it casually on her shoulder as she walks back toward the others, taking stock of the aftermath of their battles. "Aye." She agrees with Elsa, nodding to Marcus. "It seems Marcus Peet has hidden depths. And Annabelle, you..." Valkyrie looks lost for words for a moment. "...put Elsa's gravely wounded steed out of its misery. A merciful act." She shoots Elsa a slightly helpless glance. The trolls are neatly dispatched between Valkyries expert warrior skills, Elsa's love of hitting things and an unexpected assist from the local plant life. The Dodge Charger is also quite, quite dead. The twisted troll hybrids are either out cold or heavily restrained. Elsa meets Valkyries pained expression with a puzzled shrug of her own. "Yes, she'll be a great asset when all the cars rise up against us." Her expression becomes serious for a moment. "Look, not being funny, I don't think any of us lot have the facilities to hold these poor bastards. I hate to dump them on Asgards doorstep, but frankly I don't know what else to do. After all, they are chuffing trolls." Elsa takes a breath. "Let's just hope no one else out there has access to this stuff." With that, in a burst of radiance from Dragonfang, the assembled heroes and their allies vanish from the mountainside, to face troll wrangling, Asgardian lore study or other less dangerous pursuits. Category:Log